by A. J. Banner
PRAISE FOR A. J. BANNER
THE TWILIGHT WIFE
“An aura of suspense hangs over every page of this well-plotted psychological thriller . . . Don’t plan to sleep until the last word has been read.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4.5 stars, Top Pick
“You may often have the deep urge to flip straight to the last page—but don’t do it. A. J. Banner sets up her mystery perfectly.”
—National Post
“A canny premise and an intense follow-through.”
—Seattle Times
“Banner milks every ounce of suspense out of this harrowing plot that reveals memory to be both unreliable and impossible to fully wash away . . . Kyra is a believable, empathetic protagonist, and Banner’s ability to maintain tension while teasing out the truth of her hazy past will keep readers engaged.”
—Publishers Weekly
“This taut psychological thriller ticks all the requisite boxes with a compelling plotline, lovely young heroine, gorgeous seaside setting, and seemingly supportive spouse.”
—Library Journal
“Tautly written.”
—BookRiot
THE GOOD NEIGHBOR
“Thrilling.”
—First for Women
“Breathtaking and suspenseful . . . unique and highly entertaining.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Packed with mystery and suspense . . . the final destination is a total surprise. Well done.”
—New York Journal of Books
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Anjali Writes LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503900813 (hardcover)
ISBN-10: 1503900819 (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 9781503949249 (paperback)
ISBN-10: 1503949249 (paperback)
Cover design by Rex Bonomelli
First edition
For Janine Donoho, a great friend, with gratitude
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Lauren is flirting with my fiancé over the dinner I spent hours preparing. She gets this way when she’s had too much wine. I’m not far behind her; I’m already into my second glass of merlot. I’m not even sure why I’m drinking—I usually don’t. But tonight, Nathan and I are planning to announce our engagement. Our shared future shimmers on a single fragile thread—his daughter’s approval. Anna is only nine years old and fiercely loyal to her mother. He promised he’d broken the news to her earlier today, but she hasn’t said anything to me. At the moment she’s busy hiding olives in her lap. I forgot that she hates them in pasta.
And now Lauren. I can’t even. Her husband, Jensen, pretends not to notice. But his eyelid twitches as she flaps her lashes at Nathan, who keeps his cool, while most men fall over themselves in her presence. Never mind that her right eye wanders and her nose meanders to the left. She exudes a strange, hypnotic allure. Her little black sheath dress clings to her curves as she leans over Nathan to refill his wineglass. Her left breast touches his arm, and my face heats. I bet she hovers over her patients this way, everyone’s fantasy nurse.
Compared to her, I feel frumpy in my lavender dress, although the silk flatters my hips and the color brings out the brown in my eyes. I dab at my mouth with a cloth napkin, gaze out at the November dusk, at the ocean glimmering through the trees. A distant freighter winks on the horizon, perhaps en route to Seattle. The darkness etches our reflections in the window. Anna, blond and birdlike. Nathan, charmingly unkempt. Jensen, the Viking, enraptured by his voluptuous wife, Lauren, who flirts like an insecure adolescent. And I, the nervous hostess, teeter on the edge of my seat, wavy hair frizzy to my shoulders, my face an indistinct oval, except for luminous eyes. At the round dining table, beneath a rustic wood chandelier, we resemble a happy gathering, but Lauren’s behavior pulls us all taut. Perhaps I should not have invited her, but I’ve known her forever. I long for our childhood friendship, two girls giggling under the covers, sharing secrets at sleepovers. But those days are gone.
Anna watches Lauren surreptitiously, copying her movements, gripping her glass of sparkling apple juice between forefinger and thumb. She’s been mimicking Lauren all evening. “Where are Uncle Keith and Aunt Hedra?” Anna glances at the clock on the wall. It’s just after seven.
“They probably hit traffic,” Nathan says tightly. He gulps his wine.
“Again? They’re an hour late.” Anna pushes a strand of fine blond hair behind her ear. “Auntie Hedra promised to show me how to put on lipstick—”
“You want a lesson?” Lauren says, smoothing the napkin draped across her lap. “I’m happy to teach you—”
“Anna’s too young for makeup,” Nathan says sharply, turning to his daughter. “Be patient, Sugarplum. They’ll be here soon.”
But like Anna, my patience is wearing thin. I need a buffer to keep me from throttling Lauren. I wish my best friend, Julie, had not flown off to a teachers’ conference. I need her reassurance.
“That’s all you’re having?” Lauren’s gaze slides to Nathan’s half-empty wineglass. “What does it take to get you sloshed?”
You’ll never know, I want to tell her. Back off.
“I’m not a big drinker,” Nathan replies, reaching for another helping of pasta.
“Come on, have a little fun. Maybe Marissa can convince you.” She throws me an ambiguous smile. I could convince Nathan to kick her out, but I’m better than that, and Jensen should be the one to rein her in. He’s staring out the window, his mind a mile away.
“How long have you and Lauren known each other again?” Nathan says, resting his hand on mine. The warmth of his touch gives me temporary comfort.
“Since we were five,” Laur
en says, slurring slightly. “Marissa moved in next door, just before school started in September.”
“Up in Silverwood,” Nathan says.
She waves her spoon back and forth, as if conducting an orchestra. “You should’ve seen her on the swing set. I thought she would flip over the top. Right then, I knew we would be best buddies. We used to pretend to be sisters.”
“Marissa didn’t tell me that little detail,” Nathan says, throwing me a quizzical look. “The sister thing.”
“Slipped my mind,” I say, putting it mildly. My insides pull together in self-protection. I can’t imagine pretending to be related to Lauren, although as kids, we did wear similar clothes, and we both spritzed on her mother’s heavy perfume. We smell the same now, Lauren said. Like twins. As a grown-up, she has taken to wearing the same cloying fragrance.
She reaches for her wineglass. “We lost touch, eventually. You know how it goes. But last year, we ran into each other, and well . . . it’s been great to catch up.”
Great. Not a word I would use to describe our friendship this evening.
“I’m glad you’re talking again.” Nathan kisses my cheek, a light touch meant to pacify. He can read my emotions.
“Serendipity,” Lauren says, patting his arm.
Her fingers linger too long. Jensen stares at his plate, holding his knife in a death grip.
I look away, forcing deep breaths. One, two, three. Give her the benefit of the doubt. Blame the wine. Or maybe her perfume is poisoning her brain.
Jensen slathers butter on his dinner roll, takes one bite, then another, stuffing the whole thing down his throat. Anna watches him with a slight sneer of disgust. She’s into manners these days.
“Here’s to neighbors.” Nathan raises his glass and gives me a brief, sidelong smile, calming my frayed nerves. He slipped me the same irresistible smile when we first met at Anna’s school. Although I sat across from her, his shy, stuttering child, I could only stare at him. At those intense, dark eyes, rough-hewn features. He looked haphazard, lopsided, unfinished. His hair is never completely combed, his shirt never buttoned to the top.
No wonder Lauren is drawn to him. But she needs to back off. Her husband stiffens with suppressed resentment.
“Come on,” she says, still leaning into Nathan. “It’s not like you have to drive home. Or are you working a night shift?”
“Not this time,” Nathan says smoothly.
“No daring rescues?” She waves her hand through the air, fluttering her bejeweled fingers.
“That’s not usually how it goes.” He stabs a spiral of pasta with his fork.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re in such a romantic profession.”
She reaches for the wine bottle, but Jensen stays her hand.
“Lauren, take it easy.” His voice is clipped, a warning.
Yeah, take it way the hell easy. Maybe he’ll yank her to her feet, drag her home, call her out for her outrageous conduct. But he only moves the wine bottle out of her reach.
What happened to the Lauren I once knew? The girl who linked arms with me, who promised we would be best friends until our hair turned gray and our teeth fell out? She must still be in there somewhere, drowning in a gallon of merlot.
“Why should I take anything easy?” She raises her glass. “Life is short. We need to celebrate friendship.” A touch of bitterness creeps into her voice. She holds her glass suspended in the air, swaying a little. Her fingernails, normally manicured, are bitten to the quick.
“Yeah, let’s celebrate,” Anna says, raising her glass, too. But uncertainty darkens her eyes. Did Nathan give her our news?
“Thanks, Sugarplum.” He smiles at her.
I pass the plate of dinner rolls to Lauren. The bread will help absorb the alcohol in her system, or so I hope. “Two more courses to go,” I say. “This is only an appetizer.”
“You’ve outdone yourself with this dinner.” Jensen looks at me, admiration brightening his eyes.
“Surprise, I learned to cook.” I grin at him over my wineglass.
Lauren throws him a glare that could freeze the room.
Jensen shifts his gaze to Nathan. “When we were undergrads,” he says, “Marissa made a religion of ordering takeout, whenever I was at their place.”
Nathan pats my hand. “Is that true?” He’s not surprised that I hung out with Jensen in college. The three of us—Lauren, Jensen, and I—were friends long before I met him.
“I wasn’t the greatest cook,” I say, smiling ruefully.
“You nearly set the kitchen on fire,” Lauren cuts in, dropping her fork on her plate.
My cheeks heat. Maybe I should have burned down the whole apartment with Lauren inside. Why did I ever agree to be her roommate? She ended up ruining my life. But I pull back on vindictive thoughts. I only wish the best for her now, don’t I?
“You’ve come a long way, baby,” Nathan is saying, lifting my hand and kissing my fingers. “Now you’re the world’s best chef.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say.
Lauren picks up her fork. “Let’s not talk about those days anymore. Makes me feel old.”
“We are seventeen years older now,” I say. Hard to believe we are both thirty-six. We felt grown-up at nineteen, but we were naive.
“You’re only as old as you feel,” Nathan says. “Right, honey?”
Before I can answer, the doorbell rings. I leap to my feet, grateful for any excuse to leave the table. I rush to open the front door.
Keith steps inside, bringing a blast of cold autumn air. He drops his bag in the foyer. “Sorry we’re late, but my brother here lives out in Timbuktu.” Impeccably dressed and groomed, he’s a taller, polished version of Nathan but with a narrower face, eyes the color of a rainy sky, and not a hair out of place.
“You know Timbuktu is a real place,” I say. “How was the drive?”
“Not bad once we left the city.”
“I’ve always loved the quiet out here.” Hedra follows in his wake, a fairy-tale princess flitting in from another world. Her features are sculpted to perfection, strands of silvery hair blowing about her face. But shadows lurk beneath her eyes. She reminds me of an exhausted Gwyneth Paltrow. She hands me a bottle of wine.
I admire the label. “Prosecco. Nathan will be thrilled.”
“Nathan doesn’t know prosecco from prosciutto,” Keith says, whipping off his trench coat. He’s in a gray cashmere pullover and pressed black slacks, one step short of a tux.
“Oh, Keith. Don’t start.” Hedra unwraps her tailored shawl, revealing a long-sleeved, emerald dress that matches her eyes. The satin fabric hugs her willowy shape. But Keith isn’t looking at her. He’s already striding into the dining room, his gaze drifting to Lauren. She flashes him a grin. My stomach turns. To attract men, she has only to breathe. Even with that gap between her teeth. Or maybe because of the gap.
Hedra must have noticed. Two pinpoints of color appear on her cheeks as we all arrange ourselves in chairs around the table.
“Good to see you again,” Jensen says, keeping his gaze on Keith. “When was the last time we all had dinner together?”
“Neighborhood barbecue, August,” Nathan says, gesturing with his fork.
“Right.” Jensen swigs his wine. “The four of you don’t get together more often?” A Southern twang creeps into his voice, a remnant of his Houston childhood.
“Keith and I live in Bellevue,” Hedra says politely, as if this explains everything.
Lauren spears an olive with her fork. “But it’s not like you’re in New York or Europe. You could pop over after rush hour. Couldn’t you?”
“Just like that,” Hedra says with a mocking smile. She and Nathan trade a quick look, as if to agree on Lauren’s stupidity. I feel a flash of protectiveness toward her.
“I work six days a week,” Keith explains. “And I’m on call a lot.”
Hedra rests her hand on his forearm. “His team is in high demand. His surg
eries—”
“Let’s not get into the details,” Keith says. “We’re all here together now. Let’s be happy.”
“Yes, happy!” Anna says, but she’s the only one smiling.
Keith loses his gaze down Lauren’s dress. If looks could kill, Hedra would be slaying him. She will probably admonish him in the guest room later. If they fight, they’d better do it quietly. Anna’s a light sleeper. She’s gazing down at the cell phone in her lap, texting again. Strictly speaking, she’s too young to own a mobile phone, but she needs one to keep track of where she goes each week—here to Nathan’s place or off to her mother’s.
Lauren leans into Nathan again, and he politely pulls away, sips his wine, and looks at Hedra. “What happened to your arm?”
She lifts her right hand, and her sleeve slips down her arm, revealing a dark bruise on her wrist. “Photo shoot last week. I fell off the platform. My heel got caught in the carpet.”
“Looks painful,” I say, wincing. “Must’ve been a hard fall.”
She nods, the color draining from her cheeks.
Lauren reaches over to touch Hedra’s delicate wrist. “The bruise is still red,” she says. “The hemoglobin hasn’t broken down yet.”
I look at Lauren, unable to hide my surprise. The haze of inebriation has partially cleared from her eyes—and evidently from her brain, too.
“Really? What does that mean?” Hedra glances anxiously at Keith.
He takes her arm and examines her wrist. “The photo shoot was only two days ago. Not last week. Remember?” He lets her arm drop.
Hedra blinks, her eyes stricken with confusion. “I don’t know where my mind is. You’re right. It was only two days ago.”
“The shoot for the winter clothing catalog, right?” Nathan says.
Darkness flickers in her eyes, then she smiles. “You’re the man with the photographic memory.” She casts another fleeting look at Keith, but he’s staring at Nathan, his eyes glittering stones.
“Remembering things is part of my job,” Nathan says, avoiding Keith’s gaze. “Can’t forget a procedure. Or a dosage. I could get in some serious shit.”
“Such high stakes,” Keith says derisively.
“I carry thirty-three essential drugs. I could shoot you up with any one of them.”